


Brand You in the Way it Counts

by charnelhouse



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Outdoor Sex, Pre-Episode: s01e01 The Mandalorian, Protective Din Djarin, Rough Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29970264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charnelhouse/pseuds/charnelhouse
Summary: You get coated in sex pollen. The Mandalorian takes care of you.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 12
Kudos: 231





	Brand You in the Way it Counts

**Author's Note:**

> This honestly fits into the "i've flown too close to the sun" universe. I wrote it with them in mind, but it works outside of it, too.

“We need to get back to the ship. We need to get back to the ship right fucking now.”

There’s grit in Mando’s voice - teeth grinding together as his jaw overworks.

 _At least - that’s how you imagine he must look - standing there with his feet spread and his shoulders bunched_.

He storms toward you before grabbing your arm - a brutal _yank_ as you trip over yourself, stumbling on your unsteady feet. Something is shattering inside you - your belly turning over and over and pain - unmistakable cramping - begins to blister its way between your legs.

 _What the fuck_?

Mando is spinning you around - his leather gloves cupping your face. He sounds strained. “Hey, hey! Look at me - focus. We just got doused in a biological weapon - one I haven’t seen in a really fucking long time and _we need to get back to the ship_.”

 _Weapon? What weapon_?

You sniff and a cloud of pink swells with your breath - it coats Mando’s visor - swirls and floats and disintegrates into the air. Your head feels soft - distant - there is something sour on your tongue. Your skin is _burning_.

They’d gone to Felucia to track a smuggler. They’d been traveling for miles - cautious of the fungal life-forms - the immense, violent-looking plants. You’d been _so_ overheated - the humidity nearly unbearable as Mando dragged you across the bizarre, multi-colored jungle. There’d been a flower - a hothouse bloom - blue as desert sky - hanging from a translucent branch. It sang in the fetid breeze - it rained pink glitter and you had brushed it with your hand because it had _called_ to you. Then it exploded.

 _Oh_.

There’s an itch at the knot of your spine. Sweat springs across your forehead - your chest - begins to drip down your underarms and the back of your neck. You knew a little about biological weapons or organisms that promoted copulation - it _made_ you want to breed - it made you crave and ache and - it made you feel like you were going to die.

“Mando,” you whisper as your fingers touch your mouth - your lips swell as if they’re about to burst. Mando’s hands tighten around your cheeks - drop to your jaw - his helmet is blank as it tilts down to look at you. You can _hear_ his heart - hear the wild, patter of it in the cage of his chest.

“I- _fuck_ \- the ship,” he stammers before his words slide and slip together - reach the point of a near-slur. “The ship, sweetheart.”

_Sweetheart._

It’s a balm - fresh milk dousing your molten skin as your cunt clenches around nothing. You’d fucked Mando a few times - moments of aggression requiring release. They were both adults and bounty hunters and they _needed_ things and sometimes those things were rather intense sex sessions. But Mando didn’t use terms of endearment - he touched you like he was dying, but he didn’t sugar the names he gave you.

“Ship’s too far,” You press your face against his cuirass. You slide it along the perfectly cool beskar. You could sleep here - you could close your eyes and bake in this untamed heat while Mando’s cold armor touched you.

“I can’t - _shit_ \- I can’t just fuck you against a tree like some dirty - some filthy - “

You wrap your arms around his neck - shove yourself against him without shame or dignity or _anything_ because your insides are coiling - slithering - and there’s a liquid between your thighs and your tight pants have gone sticky. _This is a fucking joke. This is so fucking humiliating_.

 _I don’t care_.

“Help me, Mando,” you whimper - tears springing forth. “Fuck - I need you to help me.”

He snaps - the fight in him disappearing as soon as you begged.

 _He’s scared for you._ The thought cracks open in your skull - a new, inviting idea. _He doesn’t like to see you in pain_. And then the thought is gone - going to wash - leaking out as something primal begins to consume you.

He lifts you up and hauls you backward - straight into the rough bark of a tree. He’s got a thick thigh between your legs - his gloves sliding across your skin - fingers yanking at the zipper of your vest. He twists the sensitive, aching flesh of your nipples as he grinds himself _hard_ against you - against the swollen, aching center of your cunt.

“Does that feel good?” he grunts. “I’m sorry - I’m sorry. It’s - it’s all I can do right now.”

They are still outside - still vulnerable and bare in the open. He shoves his hand down your pants and the leather is rough - _a good rough_ \- but you don’t want fucking leather - you want _him_ \- and his naked, warm touch.

“No glove,” you plead and he nods.

“Okay,” he answers - his helmet nosing at your throat. “Alright.”

He tugs it off and tosses it behind him before slipping his broad, perfect hand down the front of your pants and you _hear_ when he makes contact - when his knuckles rock against the slick seam of your pussy.

“ _Maker_ ,” he growls. “You’re so fucking wet, sweet girl.”

Every touch is medicine - ointment across the peeled-free nerves that is your skin - your aching cunt - the soft tissue of your lips. Your fingers are digging into the pauldrons of his armor. You’re making absurd noises - moaning like an animal in heat - crying out as he pinches the nub of your clit and tucks his helmet over your shoulder. He’s burying you into the damn tree - your back now scraped to ruin.

“C’mon,” he urges. “Come for me. I know it fucking hurts. I know it.”

You do - you burst open from the simple graze of his fingertips over your clit. You shake in his arms as he shoves his thigh between your legs - dry humping you to oblivion. You can feel just how hard he is - feel his cloth-covered cock prod into the tender flesh of your sex. His rhythm is feral - it’s brutal and frantic and - _perfect_.

He brushes your hair back - runs his thumb over your lower lip in the imitation of a kiss.

“Is that enough?” he asks. “Is that enough for now? Can you get back to the ship? I can take care of you there...can _really_ take care of you.”

 _No._ It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough and the pollen is only escalating the real, true depth of your feelings for him. It’s not just lust - it’s not just release - it’s _Mando_.

He rubs himself against your body - your bones and blood and organs snapped up in a bind. You’re too high - too riled up - a rope pulled tight on the verge of being released into _nothing_.

He acknowledges your silence - your lack of an answer.

_Not yet. Not yet. Not back to the ship just yet._

His helmet slides across your face and you can _almost_ sense his eyes - his expression - his concern. You bet the pupils are dark - you bet they’re endless. He slides two fingers inside you - crooking them so that they can rub against something patchy and deep.

“I’ll give you one more,” he mutters - quavering minutely. “I’ll get you off. I’ll do it, but then we need to go. I really _really_ mean it, pretty. We can’t - _I can’t_ \- fuck you here.”

You mewl like a loth- cat, shoving yourself down on his leg as he ruts up into you. They’re _basically_ fucking. He’s not inside you, but he’s got one hand on your ass and the other rooted in your cunt and each thrust of his hips is punching you up the tree.

“Mando,” you plead. “Mando.”

You don’t know what you’re asking for - you don’t know anything at all, but the hot mess of your brain that’s scrambling to bits and pieces. He’s pulling your climax from you - thumb rubbing your clit in tight, short circles as you shudder.

“I know,’ he rasps. “I know. It’s okay - just - just try to relax. Be good for me.”

The fog clears - your walls clamp down hard around his fingers, which seems to set him off - makes him groan like a low, pitchy beast.

And somewhere in there - somewhere between him railing you into this tree with his armor on and his apparent care for your well-being - you want to confess that this isn’t - _this isn’t_ \- just sex. It’s never been like this before.

You’ve fucked boys - you’ve gotten off with other people and yet this is so fucking new and different and maybe, perhaps - special.

The words are on your tongue - climbing up your throat as your orgasm begins to crest and peak and _burn_ before they just slip away - depart in a gust of pheromones and streaky pollen and you find yourself just crying out _Mando_ as he answers you with a sharp stroke and you’re coming - exploding around him as he catches that sweet spot inside you.

He gasps - the great weight of him stuttering to a full stop as he holds you against the tree. His cock seemingly softening in his pants.

Your eyes widen - the haze momentarily dissipating. “Mando - did you just?”

He grunts - pulling his wet fingers from your cunt before gently releasing you to your feet.

“Ship,” he bites out. “Ship. Now.”

* * *

Din can’t quite believe it. He just - he just came in his damn pants as he finger-fucked you.

Like a boy - like when he’d been a hormonal teenager stroking himself in his bunk. Intimacy and sex and pleasure had been a foreign thing - a bizarre element that simply didn’t fit into the culture of the Mandalore, but he _still_ did it because it felt good.

He’d managed to get you back to the ship, at least.

“I think,” you warble as you pull at your clothes. “I think that - that walking made it travel through my blood faster - my heart feels like it’s gonna blow up - _oh Mando_ it’s coming back.”

Every sound out of your mouth is _broken_ \- desperate and feminine like the ting of thin glass.

“Get on the bed,” he orders quietly. He’d need the lights off if he was going to do this right and luckily the world of Felucia had gone dark. The galaxy had slipped from a blush, flame orange to a deep, tranquil navy spattered with white stars. He’d barely noticed - too focused on the uncomfortable wet spot in his pants and how hot your wrist felt in his grip.

You _were_ in bad shape. He’d gotten a whiff of it - a tiny amount had spread beneath the edge of his helmet - but not enough to make him completely out of control. You’d been _bathed_ in it.

He closes the gangway - activating the ground security protocols. The smell of blooms and primitive vegetation wafts through the thick metal walls of the ship. It’s heady - virulent - sickly sweet.

He turns back to you and you’re spread out on his bed - hair soft and touched by the dim yellow lights of the hull. You’re naked and Mando inhales sharply at the sight of your swollen tits - red, bitten-through lips - your perfect cunt that is glossed in your slick. _Fuck_ you’re wet - he can see it all over - glimmering over your thighs and belly and hips.

You press the back of your hand to your eyes - hissing as another cramp tears through you. “Mando,” you moan. “I - I hate to be really needy right now, but I’m pretty sure it’s getting worse.”

He clenches his jaw. His desire for you had gotten out of hand. They were _fucking_ and that arrangement had had clear clean boundaries. You. Me. Stress relief.

And the whole damn time - Din knew - instinctively _he knew_ \- that it was more than that - that you were too lovely and too good at killing for him to _not_ only want you as a friend in his bed.

You made him laugh due to your dry, sarcastic delivery in the most inappropriate situations. You got him hard nearly every minute of the day by just _being_ \- hair tossed over your shoulder as you studied a target - as you flipped your blaster and managed to get a shot that was seemingly impossible _even_ for him. You gave him absolutely nothing when it came to your past - your homeworld - your _anything_.

That was fine because it’s not like he was an open book. You didn’t ask questions and neither did he and all that was left was their shared enthusiasm for hunting and being ridiculously good at it.

Also - being really fucking well-matched when it came to sex.

“Mando,” you call out - shaky and weak. It’s so unlike you - so tremulous that Din feels his heart clench. It was his fucking fault that this happened to you - for taking you to this planet without warning you or being more cautious.

He flips the lights - divesting himself of his armor - letting it just clatter across the floor as he strides toward you. He lowers himself next to you and he can _feel_ how warm you are - heat radiating off your body like a fired blaster-cannon.

“It hurts,” You touch his chest - hand fanning out across the plane of his pectoral. “It hurts so much.”

 _Maker_. _You sounded sick_.

He was used to your confidence - the smug roll of your hips as you walked in front of him. You spoke like smoke - like every word ached and spilled forth like syrup. Your voice drove him insane just like every other part of you.

_He really was a teenager with a crush - an obsession - a disturbing infatuation that was inappropriate for someone like him._

He scoots closer to you - brushing your hair off your forehead, combing it behind your ears. You’re trembling - your skin slippery with muggy sweat. He places his hand on your inner thigh - the smell of you - the salt - it’s overwhelming and he’s hard again - his cock bouncing against his stomach.

“Spread your legs wider,” he presses. You do immediately as you cling to his shoulder in a bruising grip. He flinches - sometimes he forgets how strong you are. “Good girl.”

He touches your pussy - runs his fingertip through the soaked folds before slipping a digit in. One then two then three and your walls convulse around him - swallow him with ease. He curls his thumb to flick at the tiny ball of flesh at the apex. You angle your body towards him - eyes shutting - the sweep of your dark lashes over the apples of your cheeks that he can _just_ make out in the dark.

You are alarmingly beautiful. The kind of beauty that hurts to look at - like staring blankly into the sun and Mando is grateful for his helmet - grateful to be hidden - because he knows that he wouldn’t be able to fix the blatant longing on his face any time you stepped into the room and smile.

“That feel good?” he asks - softly - quietly - the ship full of red-black light - everything gone to smudged shadows. The hull is almost a womb - a fever dream that smells of your cunt and your perfumed hair.

He _feels_ you come - feels you choke his fingers as your nails dig into his muscles. He wants you to mark him up - wants you to leave him battered and painted in your colors. He wants you to brand him because he does not know how to possess you - how to keep you close and only his. He figures that it could go the other way - that _you_ could own _him_ and maybe - _maybe_ \- that would lead to all the rest.

He catches your chin to slide his mouth over yours - tongue tangling as his cock bobs against your thigh. He moves between your legs - using his hips to widen the space - using his forearms to frame your head.

You’ve dissolved into senselessness - to broken words and cries and promises.

“Mando - _please_ \- fuck me,” you gasp against his mouth. “Please - I’ll blow you. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want you to think that their sex is a transaction of sorts - one act for another. He’d eat your cunt for hours and never complain if you didn’t return the favor.

He hushes you by crushing his lips to yours - more tongue and teeth and hot breath than a true kiss. You tense beneath him. “I’ve got you, little thing,” he soothes. “I’ve got you and I’m gonna make you feel good - feel so much better.”

His hand is drenched in you and he strokes his cock with the strings of it. He desperately wishes to stuff his fingers into his mouth - swallow all of you - stuff you into him until he cannot breathe or function or fight without the punch of you on his tongue.

“Just getting you ready,” he hums. “Just getting that perfect, pretty cunt ready for me.”

When you’d first seen his cock - you had actually blanched - your eyes so wide that it had made him bark with laughter.

 _“Um - okay - I - well I’ve never run away from a challenge,”_ you finally announced and it made him both intensely smug and strangely tender for you.

He brushes the head of his dick along the seam of your folds - catches it on the blunt nub of your clit. You wiggle beneath him - huffing and stammering until finally he lines himself up and buries his entire length inside you. You grunt when he sheathes himself to the hilt - the weight of his balls right up against the back of your thighs as you wrap yourself around him.

His eyes are nearly crossing as he tries to steady his breathing. He holds himself there - holds his body in place as the muscles of your cunt spasm around him. You are _so_ tight - burning hot and silky and it’s nearly unbearable. He draws his cock out - draws it to the tip - before slamming himself back into you.

And then he fucks you. Fucks you for real. Fucks you like he means to - fucks you as an apology and as a message - _I care, pretty girl. I care a lot._

When he pulls out - he flips you onto your hands and knees so he can see the work he’s done. You’re fucked open - juicy pink and dripping. He commits it to memory - commits the sight of your ruined pussy to the many records in his head: his files and secrets and talents as a bounty hunter. He can use it to tug himself off when he is alone - when he doesn’t have you near and _no_ \- he hates that thought - he does not - _cannot_ \- be away from you again.

He trails his hand down your back before it comes to rest on your ass. He hits you - not hard - just a slap - just something to _listen to_ \- the echoing burst of flesh to flesh.

“Fuck,” you sigh. “Fuck - do it again.”

He does. Your voice is returning - throaty and strong. Your fever pales to _just_ warm.

“You like it rough, sweet girl?” he husks as he wrenches your hair back - rips you hard against him so your spine arches - so your cheek is sliding along his and he can grab you brutishly around the chin and slip his tongue into your mouth.

“So rough,” you pant. “Fuck - I want you to just - just tear me apart.”

 _Shit_.

He shifts - tilting his hips before breaching your defiled cunt with the head of his cock. He teases you - attempting short strokes that barely nuzzle the cup of your womb.

“Don’t you dare,” you growl. “I’m dead serious, Mando. I am dying from poison and you’re playing around.”

“No you’re not,” he laughs before shoving himself all the way.

* * *

He goes for hours until you’re screamed raw - stripped of your parts. When his cock doesn’t work anymore he drags you to the foot of his cot and fastens his mouth to your pussy.

It’s filthy - it’s so fucking dirty - to eat you out when he’s filled you with his come. He tastes salt - the tang of girl-sex and sweat and himself. He licks you with an eager tongue - enjoys listening to you gasp and shudder and shake apart as you nearly yank his hair out of his head.

“Mando,” you sob. “Mando it’s - it’s too much.”

He cups your ass - digging his fingers into the soft, giving flesh before hauling you to his lips - legs draped over his shoulders as he drinks from you. He suckles your clit - the tip of his tongue fucking into you as you buck into his jaw. You sit up as your orgasm shudders through you - body curling into itself as he pins you to the bed.

“C’mon, baby,” he urges. “Come one more time. Just for me. I want my pretty fucking baby to come in my mouth.”

This isn’t in his wheelhouse. He doesn’t blatantly use pet names for the people he’s fucking (or ever). But you’re not people - you’re not like anyone else. These words are flying out of his damn mouth before he can stop them - he feels out of control and possessed and off his head.

He can’t stop.

Something high-pitched sounds from your chest as you haul the pillow over your face and _shriek_ \- and then you’re gushing - wet, warm slick that he tastes. It knocks his senses - it _destroys_ him - he swells with something beyond conceit - beyond pride.

_Mando Mando Mando_

You call to him - your arms outstretched and he goes to you immediately - your body still shaking uncontrollably from what he’s done. You try and catch your breath, but all you can manage is your palms on his face as you force him down to your mouth.

It’s a kiss - it’s more than that. It’s burning his mouth - leaving him cut open. He looks down at you - watches the way your eyes try to pry him apart. He can barely make out your expression - it’s _just_ soft - just loose and lost and vulnerable.

“I can’t see you,” you croak - unbearably sad and frustrated - and _isn’t that the point_.

 _But - stars - he’d like to show you - he’d give you his face if he could take it back_.

Another voice.

_Would you want to take it back though? Would you really?_

_No._

“That was...that was,” you struggle for language - for sense - before you give up and run your thumb over his cheekbone instead.

“I told you I’d take care of you,” Din reminds as he continues to hold his weight above you - to feel the shivering mess of your body beneath his own. _He did th_ at _._

“You did. I believed you.”

He _would_. He’d take care of you always - he’s in too deep now. He longs for you to such a degree that it fucking scares him. _What has he done? Why did he get into this?_

He’s branded you - he thinks. Your come and spit are on his tongue. He’s marked your cunt in a way that _maybe_ \- _hopefully_ \- you won’t forget. _You won’t forget him_ if you ever do leave.

He collapses next to you - banishing that ugly thought far from the swirl of his head. It makes him too nervous.

He doesn’t _do_ feelings. Mandalorians certainly don’t.

He really doesn’t like that the idea of you gone _hurts_.

**Author's Note:**

> https://charnelhouse.tumblr.com/
> 
> I literally just made a Tumblr so plz stop by to chat. I need more friends.


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